A Faithful Friend

I rescued her from the pound when she was around 10 weeks old. We could only guess her age because the person who left her there didn’t leave specifics. She was the only puppy that wasn’t bopping around like a bouncy ball. Maybe that’s why I loved her. She just sat there with this sad look that said, “Save me!” And so I did.

The animal shelter told me she was very sick and so I took her to the veterinarian closest to my home. I met Dr. Dan Wentz of Ferguson Animal Hospital under less than idea circumstances. Some of his first words to me included:

“Your puppy has Parvo Virus and will die if you don’t treat her. I believe I can save her.”

And he did.

He told me she was probably a Mastiff and would grow to be around 80 pounds. I thought she looked more like a little Golden/Shar Pei mix. She grew into her body and personified a golden retriever with impetuous manners and a heart as golden as her fur. Although I’ll never know her exact heritage, it matters not. She was just Gwen(short for Guinevere) and I loved her.

Gwen loved to wander. Maybe it was the retriever in her. I used to think she would sneak off on purpose but now I believe she just got distracted by the beauty around her and liked to follow her nose. But she always came home. Today is the first day she didn’t. We made our final trip to see Dr. Dan, the only place Gwen truly hated to go(probably because of all those needles and tubes and bad smells). I said goodbye to my first dog after 16 and a half years of friendship.

I have a lot of memories and I suppose I could bore the reader with all of them, but I won’t. But as I process through the fresh grief, I’d like to put a few here, if for no other reason than I may forget them later.

Gwen loved me most of all, even though she was initially a gift to my eldest son on his 3rd birthday. She hated to be away from me and would refuse to eat when I left her to travel. This was especially evident today. Her body was tired but her iron will remained. She held on as I sat next to her and recited the 23rd Psalm. I could tell that even in death, though her body was old and sick and very, very tired, she was afraid to leave me. I told her it was okay to go. I told her I would be okay. And I will.

Gwen was happiest in the country. She loved walking along the river bank. She had this wise gaze she employed that said she was making sure everything was safe for me. Gwen always did everything in her power to make me safe. She was a faithful friend that way.

Gwen didn’t like rabbits. One of my other pound rescues, an ornery black lop named Grover, bit her on the nose when she was a puppy. Gwen was a smart dog. She learned the first time not to poke her nose around a rabbit–for that matter–any rabbit.

As I mentioned before, Gwen liked to wander, and one time she came home with cut paws that needed to be stitched. I was out of work at the time and worried about the vet bill. I took her to the vet(not Dr. Wentz that time) and they stitched her back together. But while I was waiting for the techs to bring her back to me, she snapped at them, hopped off the table, and somehow managed to escape the clinic. By the time they told me, she was long gone, wandering around a strange city fresh from being put to sleep and still recovering from heavy anesthetic. It took us an hour to find her. When she saw me, she ran straight to me and hopped in the car. The vet gave me a 50% discount for our trouble. I don’t know that I’ve ever had such a “Thank you, Jesus!” moment as that one. I guess she knew I couldn’t afford the whole bill and made sure I didn’t have to pay it.

My “pound puppy” was sick most of her adult life. Between skin allergies(which were worst in the Fall) and a mysterious lymphatic disease that plagued her off and on, it seemed like her days were always numbered. She suffered through round after round of anti-biotics, and through the puppy-hood of a particularly rowdy boxer named Hodges. We grieved together when he left this phase of our lives. Now they are exploring Heaven together.

Gwen wasn’t a perfect dog, but she was a perfect friend. I will miss her. And while I certainly hate death and everything that has to do with dying, sitting by her side in her final hours was my pleasure. Because when I think of all the times she sat by my side while I was sad, or just needed someone, it was really the least that I could do.

On July 2, 2016   /   The Journey   /   1 Comment